


Good Omens: Missing Generation

by ordinary_ineffability



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Background Slash, Backstory, Mild Language, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, hints of OC/OC to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-07 07:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary_ineffability/pseuds/ordinary_ineffability
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Crowley and Aziraphale weren't the only 'agents' that had been on Earth for the Apocalypse-that-wasn't? What if, in fact, their two students had been there throughout as well?</p><p>The story of 'Good Omens' through the eyes of two new characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time to celebrate?

**Author's Note:**

> To understand this story, you'll need a copy of 'Good Omens' to hand. (That or have perfect memory as to the order of the story)
> 
> Previously posted on FF.net, but being re-posted here as I'm not overly keen on what's happening.
> 
> I do not own the beautiful work that is 'Good Omens', other than in the form of a well-read, battered paperback. The original work belongs completely and utterly to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

Whilst Aziraphale and Crowley went for a meal in the Ritz, their charges were also meeting. 

_Technically_ , the term for Muriel was Aziraphale's fledgling, but since she had the body of a twenty-something year-old girl, she deemed the term inappropriate, and had in fact deemed it so some time in the 12th Century. 

Aziraphale had been assigned as her tutor a while before the 'Fall' of some of heaven, and Muriel had been sent down on and off to aid him whilst she was learning once he had been given his task on Earth. After the Flood, however, her position on Earth became permanent. There had been many occasions between then and the formation of 'The Arrangement' where she had helped him to fight against Crowley and his 'underling', Damian. (1)

Muriel and Damian had fought each other until 'The Arrangement' - and a while afterwards too. After all, the agreement had been between _their respective tutors_ , and not themselves. Still, they eventually stopped trying to repeatedly wipe each other out after an incident, which is referred to simply as 'The Incident', which happened around 1098.

 

Anyway, this isn't what they were discussing. In fact, at that moment in time they had been discussing the pros and cons of fairy tales. It was, so far, mostly cons. Muriel sighed as Damian once again managed to scrape up something poor to say about them. "I mean, is this really what we want children to grow up with? This silly, unrealistic idea of 'happily ever after'? How is that fair? It's like... like..." Damian scrounged for an example for a pause. Unable to find a decent comparison, he finished rather poorly with "...like telling them something that isn't true, is what it's like." Nodding to himself, he glanced over at his counterpart.

Muriel blinked, head tilting to one side in thought. Well, he had a point there, sadly. But then... "If you look back at it, actually, the original fairy tales were fairly gruesome. In fact, in one of the tales the two ugly stepsisters had their eyes gouged out by birds. I think the stories were more to teach children morals than to appear real." She replied, sipping daintily at her tea.

Damian opened his mouth to respond, but was unable to find a decent response. Shutting his mouth again, he huffed in annoyance. Typical angel, always finding a hint of logic in any argument... He was about to reply with another argument when he heard the distinctive sound of his television fizzling. 

Realising what was happening, he turned to Muriel again. "Kitchen – now!" Nodding, she moved and ducked behind the counter, just in time.

The television fizzled once more before it went blank, and a voice rang out ominously. **-HELLO DAMIAN.-**

The demon swallowed nervously, before clearing his throat. 

"Um... hi, there. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked in a confident tone that he only _just_ managed to fake. 

The voice responded after a pause. **-THERE IS NO PLEASURE IN THE WORKS OF HELL, DAMIAN. BUT THERE IS A REASON FOR CELEBRATION.–**

Damian blinked. "And what might that reason be?" he asked cautiously. 

**-THE REASON-,** the voice returned, **-IS SIMPLE. IT IS THE START OF THE END, THE FIRST DAY LEADING TO THE END OF DAYS. THE ANTICHRIST HAS ARRIVED.-**

Damian blinked again, wondering if he'd heard correctly. He heard a stifled gasp from the kitchen, and it confirmed his fears that he had, in fact, heard exactly what they had said clearly. _'Ohshitohshitohshit...'_

"...Um, yay! That's wonderful news. The End of Days. Lovely. Wonderful, even. So, I'll just get back to-" 

He was cut off as the voice came again. **-WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?–**

_'Bugger...'_

**-WHO IS THERE WITH YOU?–**

Thinking fast, Damian offered the best smirk he could, and replied, "Oh, that? Just a university student I've tempted. Member of the Christian Union. She's drunk, so she won't remember this... In fact, you kinda disturbed us, if you catch my drift..." 

_'Please don't smite me, please, please don't smite me...'_ He thought desperately about the 'university student' as he span his lie. 

They seemed to buy it, if the creepy laughter was anything to go by. **–THEN WE HOPE WE HAVEN'T CRAMPED YOUR STYLE TOO MUCH, DAMIAN. GOOD LUCK.–** The voice responded before the television fizzled again and the evening news came on. Sensing Damian's disgust, it hurriedly changed over to Doctor Who instead. Like the plants in his tutor's apartment, the technology in Damian's worked with him without fuss. (2) 

Hearing a small clatter from the kitchen, he looked over in time to catch Muriel's unimpressed gaze. "Haven't 'cramped your style', have they?" She asked coolly. Damian winced as if she had just threatened him with holy water. 

"Come on, now, feathers, don't get upset with _me_. I kept you hidden, didn't I? Down Below doesn't know that you were here... Isn't that better?" He asked hopefully. After a while, Muriel sighed and stretched, before walking over to sit on the edge of the sofa. 

"So... The Antichrist, huh? Should we contact Zira and Crowley? I think they'd better know..." She trailed off as Damian's phone began to ring. Picking it up uncertainly, Damian put his ear to it. 

"Hello?" He asked. After a minute, he nodded to himself, humming. Glancing over at Muriel, he mouthed 'It's the others'. She nodded in understanding and listened to one half of a phone conversation. 

"Right... Yes, we know... Yep, you can tell Aziraphale that she's here too, we _both_ know about it... What's he talking about? ... _Dolphins_? What on... Oh. Right. Yes, well, they _contacted me_ , so... yep. Have fun... _yes_ , while we can, I _know_... Alright... bye. _Bye_."  
He finished, putting the phone down again and going to sit on the back of the sofa. 

"...Dolphins?" Muriel asked in confusion. Damian shrugged. "They're both pretty much legless. Something about _dolphins_ and _whales_ and _kraken_ and _brains_..." he replied in confusion. Muriel nodded. "Yes, kraken. Flaming big fish thing that's meant to rise in the final days, apparently."

"Really?"

"Human fact. _Big_ fish, nasty bugger. End of Days, it makes an appearance. I'm too sober for this conversation." Muriel muttered, going over to the fridge in order to pull out a lager for Damian and a pear cider for herself. 

Passing the lager to her enemy-turned-friend, they clinked bottles and started to attempt reaching their tutors' state of inebriation. (3)

__________

(1) Yes, the name would appear to be somewhat predictable, but in all truth it had been the demon's fault that the name had been chosen for the antichrist in that film. He _may_ have flirted for a while with the daughter of the writer, and the fact that he had eyes that could change colour with extreme emotions _probably_ didn't help him. 

(2) Or rather, he threatened them with being left in the rain and then crushed, and they did what they were expected to do without fuss.

(3) Two hours later, they reached it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, I've based Muriel's appearance roughly on Zooey Deschanel, but a girl in her mid-twenties. In my mind, Muri has a 'posh' accent. Damian, on the other hand, has a hint of cockney, and his appearances are very loosely based on Thomas Dekker (eye colour, skin tone, hair colour).


	2. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set the morning after chapter one.

Muriel sat on the swing in the park – undisturbed by children, as it _was_ 11:30 in the morning on a Wednesday – and thought. (1) She'd just heard Aziraphale and Crowley's idea of how to try and change things, but she wasn't too sure about it. After all, what were the chances of it working? Was it really wise to trust an idea made up hastily overnight? Then again, it _was_ her tutor and his counterpart. Plus, as an angel she was a being that was supposed to trust implicitly, and to believe in the best.

Her train of thought was promptly hijacked and derailed by the telltale **_thud_** that meant somebody had tried to sit on the next swing, and had missed.  
Badly.  
Looking down, she saw a familiar pair of sunglasses. Technically, Damian didn't need to wear them like his tutor – his eyes were usually dark brown, and only changed when he felt severe emotions. Then again, Damian wasn't known for having the best of tempers, so it was probably for the best.

"Are you alright, darling? You don't exactly look comfortable down there." She asked in concern, gracefully jumping from her own swing and helping the demon up. He muttered, desperately fighting to stop his cheeks from flaming red in mortification.

Instead, he pretended to be annoyed. "I'm fine, feathers; don't get all 'mother-henny' on me. And don't call me darling! What _is_ it with you and that term? You're as bad as Zira with his ' _my dear_ ' and ' _dearest_ '..." he grumbled. Had his wings been showing, Muriel imagined they would be severely ruffled. 

Rather than feeling offended, Muriel shook her head. She'd known Damian for a while now, and therefore she was good at being able to tell if he really _was_ annoyed. He wasn't here, but she also knew better than to call him on it. It just made him tetchy. Instead, she sat down on her own swing again, and watched out of the corner of her eye as Damian did the same. She leaned back, kicking, and started to build up speed as she swung again, waiting for him to speak. After a pause, he did the same, and decided to use his voice.

"So... Why, exactly, were you out here this morning? I'm guessing Aziraphale told you the plan." He asked, giving an extra boost and making a branch snap off one of the trees in order to hit a man. Muriel noticed, and suddenly the man found himself a metre away, blinking as the branch hit where he had been standing moments before. Damian scowled. Muriel would have called it a _pout_ , except she really didn't want to be discorporated. 

Instead, she replied. "Yes, I've been told. And I'm not entirely sure about the idea, but I _guess_ it's our best chance..." She explained quietly, glancing over at her counterpart. Damian shrugged slightly, meeting her gaze over his sunglasses, before looking back at the park. 

" _I_ guess we have to hope for the best." He responded. 

Sitting for a little while longer, they eventually decided that, as there was obviously nothing they could do about it, they may as well go and have lunch. Unlike their tutors, Muriel and Damian were not huge fans of the Ritz, and often preferred small cafes and restaurants. They were both equally fond of fast food at times, too. In the end, however, they settled upon a cafe in Covent Garden that served lovely bacon rolls and a vast array of cookies. (2) 

Nibbling away at the cookie she had bought – a delightfully colourful one with smarties in it – Muriel watched the people passing by. "It's a shame, you know. This lot never realising how close they could very well be to the End of Days. And to think, we might not even manage to escape _jumpsuits_ before it all stops. Good call on your side, by the way." She added.

Damian blinked. " _Our_ side?" he asked, "I thought it was _your_ side's fault!" He shuddered at the suggestion. "We're _much_ better fashion-wise."

Muriel frowned, before shrugging. "Then, it is a fault under the category of 'man-made', I guess." She mused, sighing lightly. "It seems as if they're causing a lot more damage than they used to. One could almost say that they're beginning to _outpace_ you." She continued.

The demon frowned. "Speak for yourself. I, for one, am still going strong with ideas right now." He huffed. "After all, _liposuction_? All me. I simply nodded at a vacuum cleaner and suggested that his wife could lose a few pounds. Temptation enough, there, I think."

"And yet _he_ was the one to design the thing. And anyway, you also helped my side there. Yes, the damage isn't so good for the women, but self-consciousness dropped and fewer men decided to commit adultery. A win in _our_ books too."

"What? You _are_ joking, right?" Damian asked. Muriel only smiled sweetly. The demon groaned. "Oh, but if my superiors hear that..." he whined, tugging absently at his hair. Muriel's blue eyes shone in amusement. 

"Don't worry, darling, I won't let them get to you, I _promise_. Never fear, after all, your _guardian angel_ is here." She teased lightly, giggling at the look of pure horror that crossed her friend's face. "Come now, it wasn't _that_ bad. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your 'mistake'. I'll just claim it as a decent counter-attack." She added, placing her hand over his soothingly.

After a pause, Damian snickered, placing his other hand on top of hers briefly. "You go ahead and do that, feathers, count it as part of our arrangement." He told her, before standing up. "Anyway, I feel like heading back. Want to come over to mine? I've bought a few VCRs, after all.  'Apocalypse Now' would have been my first suggestion, but considering everything... how about 'Star Wars'? I know you, Muri – flaming _sci-fi geek_ , you are." 

Muriel had been pulling a face at the first film suggestion, but she brightened up considerably with the second. "Sounds good to me – in return, _you_ can choose the popcorn." She offered generously, knowing that he'd most likely pick salted. She liked salted as well, of course, but she tended to prefer sweet. 

Sensing this, Damian sighed, before offering a small smile. "I think we should get one of each, really. Means I don't have to _share_ at any rate." With that, he offered his arm, helped her up and together they walked towards Damian's apartment. They ended up buying quite a few bags of popcorn.

After all, they had a long few years to fill – and a _lot_ of movies to watch.

__________

(1) She also swung a bit, but that's to be expected.

(2) It had to be said; Muriel had a weakness for cookies. In fact, she had a bit of a weakness for _sweet things_ in general. It just so happened that the cafe only really sold cookies. 


	3. Antichrist angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set 10 years down the line, before the birthday party scene.)

"I don't know," Muriel commented in a worried tone, "I just don't _know_. Something seems really odd about the whole situation. Something seems... _off_." The two were sat in St James Park, next to the duck pond. 

It is not common knowledge, but St James ducks are, among other things, fairly emphatic when it involves the emotions and preferences of people. Possibly due to the need to judge various spies and agents meeting by their pond, but nobody will ever know for sure. 

Damian’s view was that ducks were created by Him for the single purpose of providing a form of entertainment that can recycle old bread – sort of like organic waste bins that are also remarkably stupid, and yet still somehow sentient. That, along with his companion's view on the birds, led to him being somewhat accepting of ducks. In a more extreme measure, Muriel _loved_ ducks. 

Therefore, as the conversation was playing out, the pair had what would have appeared, to an onlooker, a swarm of ducks amicably waddling around the bench that the angel and demon duo were sat on. In fact, one bold feathered individual had chosen to settle against the angel's side, and another was doing its best to nibble at Damian's shoe. Damian was about to use the propulsion of his foot against the aforementioned bird, but caught sight of Muriel's disapproving expression and changed his mind at the last second, instead contenting himself with hitting the duck on the head with a piece of bread.

"I know what you mean. All I can think to possibly say about Warlock is that he is a top-class brat. A precocious 10-year-old _brat_ , with an overinflated ego to match his weekly _pocket money_." He replied darkly, eyes flashing briefly with a reddish glow. 

Muriel watched this with a raised eyebrow. "Then surely your side should be happy about that? After all, rebellious behaviour and that kind of thing? Linked to _your_ lot most of the time. You know - 'Oh, that devil child!' sort of thing?" She replied.

Damian nodded. "Oh, certainly, they're proud of _that_ part. But it also means he's a proper pain for anyone given the responsibility of looking after him for long periods of time. Simply _watching_ the brat during his tempers is enough to cause me a headache..." he muttered, rubbing his temple for emphasis. 

Muriel sighed. "Come now, darling, you really mustn't forget his position in society. He is in a lifestyle where he would need to play up at times to gain any attention from his parents. That kind of thing is almost _certain_ to affect the personality of a child of his age." She chided gently. 

After all, as the official angel of the youth, she really was supposed to defend any child's behaviour. Although most of it, in _this_ case, was simply to keep up appearances. Yes, the child had his positives, but those tempers of his were trying on those even blessed with the patience of a _saint_. (1) 

Damian muttered under his breath about 'annoying, forgiving heavenly softies', but decided not to continue his rant about Warlock. After all, he'd be attempting to do something about as possible as trying to use a pogo-stick as an effective method of transportation to reach the moon. The demon could tell an impossible task if faced with one. 

Instead, he fed the ducks again, and fought the temptation to make one of the buggers _choke_. It was difficult, but he succeeded. 

After a while, the pair decided that, although it was nice to sit in the park, they really needed to find Aziraphale and Crowley. So, they set off to find them. 

An hour later, they found their respective tutors sitting in the cafe of the British Museum. Grabbing another two chairs, they moved to sit down with them. Aziraphale smiled over at Muriel, before asking if she wanted anything to drink. Before she could respond, Damian tapped on the table and a cup of tea appeared in front of the younger angel, along with a piece of shortbread. 

Muriel blinked, before thanking Damian and drawing an obscure image in the air with her foot. The next waitress to open the till would find enough money to cover both Muriel's things _and_ Damian's cup of coffee and bag of pretzels. 

"So what's going on now? Any plans for the _birthday boy_?" The demon asked, turning to their elders and barely hiding the disgust in his tone. 

Crowley waited until his student was halfway through sipping at his coffee before calmly replying. "Oh, nothing _much_. Just a hellhound." 

The reaction was just as entertaining as he'd hoped. 

Damian choked on his coffee, but as he choked some of the coffee spilt into his lap. The younger demon yelped, leaping up and dropping the coffee. Sadly, it splashed as it fell, and hot coffee went everywhere. Including onto a passing waiter, who proceeded to drop his tray with a yell onto a young couple. At the girl's screech, an old lady across the way jumped in shock, and her bag turned to hit a businessman in the face. 

Crowley couldn't stop laughing for a good few minutes, and could only laugh harder at Damian's glare that was then aimed at a fussing Muriel who was desperately trying to help sort the chaos. 

His laughter stopped however, as he turned to face Aziraphale who was holding a hand over his face and wincing. Pulling the angel's hand back, he grimaced as he realised that some of the spilt beverage had hit Aziraphale in the face - namely the eye - and had scalded him. Crowley looked guilty, before placing a quick hand onto the angel's cheek, blinking as the burn vanished immediately. "Sssorry, Angel. Didn't mean for _you_ to be ssstruck as well." He muttered. 

Aziraphale sighed, before shrugging. "Oh, well. I'm fine now. Just, please, _think_ next time? You also narrowly missed Muriel's face there." He replied quietly, just before their students sat down again. Sure enough, there was a mark on the younger angel's top, along the shoulder and towards the neckline.

Noticing Crowley's stare, Muriel looked at where he was staring. "Oh! Whoops, didn't notice that..." she murmured, placing a hand over the stain that disappeared when she let go. Looking back up, she tilted her head to one side. "I'm guessing you weren't joking just then, so... explanation, please?" She added, looking between her own tutor and Damian's. 

Aziraphale and Crowley quickly filled in the details for the younger pair, and soon a plan was formed on just how to get into the party.

__________

(1) Or, in this case, an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there isn't a known 'angel of the youth', and that according to some Muriel is supposed to be the angel of emotions, but I think this title suits her better, and it will become more important later on in the story. 
> 
> I'm sorry if Aziraphale and Crowley came across as a bit OOC! Please let me know.


	4. Parties and panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Fairly obvious where in the book this chapter is set)

"Oh, dear. Do you think we ought to rescue him?" Muriel asked, watching her tutor's poor attempt at magical entertainment. 

Damian was too busy dying of laughter to respond to her question. 

After much debate, it had been decided that Muriel and Damian were to enter the party under the guise of being children's party designers/decorators. Essentially, they were there to decide what should go where, and to create a rough plan of the order of events within the party. Now was the _'magic show'_ , and so the younger pair were standing at the back of the room, watching as Muriel's tutor desperately tried to entertain the gathered children with various magic tricks. It wasn't going well. 

In fact, 'it wasn't going well' was a grave understatement. The fact that the elder angel was using the type of language that curled up and died about _80 years beforehand_ didn't help matters in the least. 

Rolling her eyes slightly at Damian's now-crumpled form, Muriel studied the room, taking in everyone within it. Glancing over at Crowley, she saw the elder demon studying a gerbil intently. Unsure of what else there was to do, she quietly walked over to stand next to him. "Should we help him? _I_ , for one, know what children can be like at times. I have enough _experience_ with them, after all." She murmured into his ear. 

It was true, and earlier in the day she had successfully held their collective attentions with an impromptu story, with suggestions given in from her audience. It had ended up with the nice alien octopus defeating the evil robot unicorns with his laser jelly, or something along those lines. Really, it was amusing to hear what children of such an age could come up with at times...

Crowley glanced at the younger angel over his sunglasses, and hissed in amused annoyance. "Don't think there's much we can do for him, really. We don't have any reason to try and stop the show." He replied. Pulling a face, Muriel turned back to face her tutor – just in time to dodge some airborne jelly propelled in their direction by a gun landing in the bowl. She watched in horror as Warlock grabbed the gun, yelling excitedly at his friends.

Meeting Damian's now-serious gaze, she nodded in the boy's direction, silently suggesting that they find a quick way to remove the gun from him or keep the other children otherwise occupied. All was resolved, however, when Warlock pulled the trigger, only to hit Crowley with a stream of water. She snorted, hearing Damian laugh behind her, before turning to watch her own tutor walk out just before a water fight started. 

The poor guards were mobbed for their guns and jets of water flew in all directions. She watched as Crowley beat a hasty retreat, hissing slightly as he left. Muriel raced over to Damian, receiving quite a few squirts of water in the process. Pulling a face, she grabbed his arm. "Let's go! _Evacuate the building_!" she yelled over the war cries of several hyperactive children. Nodding, Damian ran with the angel right on his heels. 

After all, she may love children but that didn't mean she loved water fights.

 

 

Crowley and Aziraphale were talking across the road, the demon pausing only briefly to make a call. Damian sighed, leaning against his own, more modern, car. He caught a glimpse of himself in the wing mirror and grimaced, deciding to believe that there were towels in the boot. Opening it, he pulled out the three towels that had suddenly begun to exist within the vehicle. Placing one of the large ones around his shoulders, he ambled over to where Muriel was sitting, and silently offered the other two to her. His angel counterpart took them with a small smile and wrapped the other large towel around her own shoulders. With the smaller towel she began to dry her hair, patting at it gingerly as small streams of ice-cold water began to drip down her face and onto her back, causing her to shiver. 

Starting to dry himself off and trying to look as unruffled as possible, he watched as their tutors started a nervous conversation between themselves. Heading over, he blessed loudly as a window _**shattered**_ a few feet from where he was standing – evidently, Aziraphale had missed a gun. Behind him, he heard Muriel yelp, before muttering a rare curse. (1)

Shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts, Damian listened in to the elder pair's conversation in time to hear the words he'd been dreading. "No dog." 

_'Oh, crap...'_

Muriel approached from behind him then, and on seeing Aziraphale's discomfort she passed over the larger of the two towels. "Thank you, my dear. I suppose you heard that?" he asked the two, accepting the towel with a smile and using it to remove the cream on his face. Both Muriel and Damian nodded, watching as Crowley climbed into his Bentley and Aziraphale, after a pause, followed.

"What do we do, then?" Muriel asked as the two drove off. Turning to face her, he tilted his head at an angle in thought as the angel continued, "Is there any way of tracking the dog, at all? _Anything_?" Damian blinked, tapping his foot in contemplation before shaking his head sadly. After a while, Muriel spoke again. "So, what do we _do_?"

After another pause, Damian sighed. "I guess it's time to get our detective hats on – we have an Antichrist to search for." He answered, grabbing Muriel by the wrist and walking over to his car.

__________

(1) The last time he'd heard the younger angel curse, in fact, had been during the blitz, when they took a wrong turning and ended up in an _alleyway_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I posted this on FF.net, I was asked two questions by one of the readers. 
> 
> The first was how much younger are Muriel and Damian than their tutors. I ended up saying that, in my mind, Aziraphale and Crowley were two of the eldest angels (before the Fall, obviously), and Damian and Muriel were amongst the youngest.
> 
> The second was about when they were sent to join their tutors. In the end, I said they probably arrived sometime after the Flood, and were around from then on.
> 
> It was also mentioned that the two were a lot more modern than their tutors. As Muriel is the Angel of the Youth in this fic, I felt that it only made sense for her to keep up-to-date with everything. And Damian's a demon; why wouldn't he be into modern devices? Think of all the temptation he could do!


	5. What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set directly after the last chapter)

"OK... where to start?" Damian thought aloud, pacing in Muriel's kitchen. 

Unlike his own flashy apartment, the younger angel's place held a more 'homely' air, giving it a warmer feel. Whereas Damian held a modern, bold theme, Muriel's little semi-detached house (a rare occurrence in London) was cosy and slightly more old fashioned in its style. If a person walked into her house without knowing her (1) they would feel as if they were walking into the home of some small, young family. There was a welcoming, lived-in feel to the place, and although Damian wouldn't admit it even if a hose of holy water was aimed at him, he actually quite liked it. It was... nice, walking into a building where he felt welcome and, to an extent, _safe_. 

Either way, that didn't mean that he wasn't panicking at that moment in time. In fact, he had been pacing along the same line for the past 8 minutes, and he was starting to feel a bit dizzy. Muriel, instead of answering him the first few hundred times he asked the exact same question, had simply rolled her eyes and continued to read the various newspapers piled around her. This time, however, she decided to respond.

"Well, you _could_ stop wearing through my kitchen floor for starters." She answered evenly. Damian, who'd grown used to Muriel staying silent, jumped as her voice broke through his thoughts. Unfortunately, he had been halfway through turning, and so the jolt had really been all that was needed to send him sprawling to the floor with a yell. 

He shut up, however, as he realised that instead of hitting the floor, he'd landed on something soft. And oddly warm. Blinking, he looked up. His eyes widened comically as he realised that rather than letting him faceplant into the floor, Muriel had caught him, and his head was now against her arm.

"Bless it!" He yelled, leaping to his feet. Muriel watched, before standing up herself. 

"And that's another thing. You could also try not to damage yourself _or_ my house..." she teased lightly, watching as her demonic counterpart sputtered for a while, before giving up. Instead he tried to make himself appear as unruffled as possible, offering a smirk in return. 

"Well, if I did that I wouldn't be tempting you. You know, wrath would be quite a good look on you – you're too placid for your own good." He responded, before walking over to where she had been sitting. "So... what _are_ you doing over here, exactly?" he asked curiously, glancing between the papers scattered around. Muriel headed back towards the table to explain.

" _Well_ ," she began, sitting down on the nearest chair, "We know that the real Antichrist is somewhere out there. And somehow Crowley messed up the delivery, because how else can this issue be explained?" The younger angel sighed, twisting a strand of hair round her finger and tugging slightly. "Anyway, we know that he's still alive because -" She was interrupted by Damian.

"How do we know that...? _Oh_." He trailed off as he realised, "Oh, yeah. If he wasn't alive Downstairs would know." He hit his head with a palm, wondering if somehow he had earned himself concussion after all. 

"So, basically, it's a case of trying to work out where he is." With that, she gestured at the pile of newspapers again. "Seeing as they've sent in his hellhound, you'd think that there would be some sort of sign around his whereabouts. Ways in which he's changing the environment around him subconsciously. Therefore, I'm looking at the media. Tell you what, turn on the radio will you? There may be things on the news that give it away." 

Nodding, Damian went over and turned on the device, tuning in to the BBC. He blinked as he heard the first few notes of a song floating in, before he stared in shock. He, sadly, knew of this song and he felt it was possibly one of the cheesiest love songs to ever be created. 

_'Girl, you're looking fine tonight, and everyone has you in their sights...'_ the voice crooned to the synthetic instruments. 

Blinking, he turned to Muriel and pulled a face. "What's up with your radio?"

"Don't look at _me_ , blame the _radio station_!" Muriel replied, also knowing the tune.

 _'What did I do? What did I say? To turn your angel eyes my way?'_ the singer continued. 

At that point, Damian grabbed the dial and searched for another channel. 

Finally he found one in time to listen to AC/DC. He grinned as he recognised the famous guitar riff from the song. "Oh, _this_ is better." He cried out triumphantly, and turned up the volume as 'This Means War' (2) began to play. Turning to face Muriel again, he was surprised to see her tapping the beat on the tabletop. "No way... you like _AC/DC_?" he asked in shock. 

Muriel shrugged.

"I don't mind it. After all, Angel of the Youth? It means I have to be fairly open to _all_ types of music. There are certainly much worse types than _this_." She replied, fighting the urge to giggle at the look on Crowley's protégé's face at her response. 

After a minute, he laughed before turning the volume up higher and sitting on the edge of the table, reading through the papers in order to look for anything out of the ordinary. Halfway through the song, both the angel and the demon were tapping out the beat as they were searching. 

After a while, they had both found a few possible snippets that suggested odd goings-on. The only issue was that they were in several areas around the UK. There were two up north, and a couple towards Wiltshire. 

And then there was an odd case near some town called _Lower Tadfield_. 

But then, it was only a small village, Damian reasoned, what were the chances that the supposed Antichrist would have ended up there?

And so, completely ignoring the small village, the two began an unusual road trip.

__________

(1) Impossible thanks to the sigils carefully hidden inside the Celtic design around the front door, but if it were to happen hypothetically 

(2) It was oddly fitting, considering what exactly was about to happen. 


	6. Friday, friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set the morning after the last chapter)

The issues to the North had proven to be useless. In fact, it had simply been a neighbourhood with a bad mixture of people. Placing a few superstitious elderly people in the same neighbourhood as a couple of new age students who had a penchant for strange sculptures and obscure music... yeah, it wasn't the best of plans.

Once they'd known for sure that there was nothing odd going on, besides the usual _human_ forms of odd, the pair had decided that it would be a good plan to move on to the next area of suspicion - Wiltshire. 

They'd had to stay overnight in a hotel, however, as by the time they'd finished searching the area both demon and angel had felt slightly drained from the neighbourhood-wide argument that they had needed to resolve before beating a hasty retreat. Luckily, there had been plenty of rooms free, and so the pair had booked themselves in and promptly gone to sleep. 

It was fairly obvious what the difference was between the pair though, considering the fact that by 7'o'clock the next morning a fully-dressed Muriel was knocking on the door of a still-sleeping Damian. Eventually, the demon had sighed, called through the door saying that he would meet her in the breakfast area downstairs in 15 minutes, and quickly dove into the shower in order to wake himself up. 

It ended up being 28 minutes, but Muri had the grace not to comment on it. Instead, he pushed across a black coffee and some buttered toast with Marmite. Both she and Damian quite liked the taste of Marmite – much to the disgust of Crowley – but that morning the angel had decided to go with the strawberry jam instead. 

Damian thanked her before downing about half of the coffee immediately. However, when he put the mug down again it was full still. The same could be said for Muriel's tea, which had remained full for 3 cups worth of the beverage. 

Feeling the caffeine beginning to work wonders with his system, Damian stretched and starting enjoying his breakfast at a more normal rate. Glancing at the wall, he realised that it was, in fact, 8 o'clock on a Thursday morning, and they were still no closer to finding the missing antichrist. Sighing, he rubbed his neck with a palm before looking at his angelic counterpart.

"So... where exactly are we heading to in the county? Please, for Somebody's sake tell me it isn't Swindon." He muttered. Certainly, he had played a large role in the _idea_ of Swindon, but really it was starting to get out of hand now.

"No, not Swindon. A town near there, called..." she glanced at the newspaper, "... _Chippenham_? And the city of Bath, although _technically_ that's Somerset. Either way, it's those two." Muriel replied, finishing her toast and drinking the last of her tea. "I wonder what's happening back in London? Do you think Zira and Crowley have found anything?" she added, head tilted slightly in contemplation.

Damian shrugged. "We can certainly _check_." He replied, getting up and heading to the public phone.

10 minutes later, he headed back. By then Muriel was already doing minor miracles and drawing children to her like an angelic magnet. The issue with her being the Angel of the Youth was that, on some odd subconscious level, children _recognised_ her. As in, they instinctively trusted Muriel. 

Although there was a major upside to that fact – because of it, it meant that parents also trusted her for some reason they could not pinpoint – there was the annoyance, for Damian anyway.

Because of it, children often gathered closer to her, subconsciously seeking the safety that came with being near the angel. So, by default, they came closer to the demon as well. It wasn't as if he had an issue with kids, but it still didn't mean that he would welcome their attention with _open arms_ – he was a demon, after all, and it wouldn't do to appear soft. No matter how hard he tried, however, he could not cause the children to be scared of him. 

Sighing internally, Damian prepared himself and walked over. Muriel looked up from where she was talking to a cheerful toddler and smiled slightly. "So? News?" she asked, before quickly turning to the child and saying, "I'm afraid I need to talk to Dames in _private_ , darling. You should head back to your mother again, I think." 

That was another thing. In a similar respect to Aziraphale and his endearment to the terms 'my dear' and 'dearest', Muri had a habit of referring to people as 'darling's. Oddly enough, she seemed to call Damian such a term more than most others. At the angel's words, the little girl giggled and ran back over to her smiling parents. Facing Damian again, she shrugged before inclining her head, waiting for him to respond.

Sitting down, Damian told her what his tutor had told him. Apparently, the hospital was now used for 'team building' events, they had no idea what had happened to the child and on the way back a pedestrian had hit them with her bike because she had been going too slow. He also added that after finding some book in the back of the Bentley when they'd arrived home, Aziraphale had beat a hasty retreat and had failed to turn up at St James Park that morning. 

Muriel took it all in with a concerned expression before stating that, _really_ , they needed to get a move on if they wanted to make it to Chippenham before lunch.

Soon enough the pair were on the road, heading south. As neither of them could decide upon a CD to listen to, they had ended up choosing to listen to the radio. After all, radios aren't biased, and you never know what you could end up finding out about. So, on went BBC radio 1.

This turned out to be a _very_ good thing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I add, I mean no offense to any readers that are from Swindon. Seriously, none. It has some lovely areas, I just felt that it'd be a place that maybe the two wouldn't enjoy being in. :)


	7. Heard it on the radio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set straight after the last chapter)

The first report that came in about the nuclear power plant issues was missed by Muriel and Damian, as they were busy arguing over the pros and cons of the internet. It was just beginning to grow in developments, and there was some unrest over who had thought of it. Anyway, Damian had said, it's like with 3D televisions. It was something out of a science fiction novel, and would probably be a phase, in a similar respect to that of the quiff. Muriel wasn't so sure, but a part of her hoped that the demon would be proven correct. 

The second time, the pair had stopped off at a motorway services station in order to stretch out a bit, and so they missed it again.

But the third time, they heard it alright. 

_'-And there is still some confusion over the sudden disappearance of the contents of a nuclear reactor in eastern England.'_

Muriel blinked, before turning up the volume on the radio. She glanced over at Damian in concern as they listened to the report. It was hard not to laugh, however, at the spokesman's retorts. You could tell that the poor man was most likely thinking about leaving his occupation after the incident that had just occurred. This sounded like what was possibly the first report on the goings on with the reactor, and if it hadn't been so severely dangerous the idea would have been hilarious.

_'Not... misplaced. I wouldn't say that.'_

Glancing over at her demon counterpart once again, her eyebrows rose. "Well... _that_ wasn't entirely expected. But I guess it proves he's out there still. Although... why would he do something like that?" She mused. 

Damian shrugged. "As we already know, the kid has no idea who - or _what_ \- he really is. It was probably a freak accident. Maybe his 'parents' mentioned something about how dangerous nuclear power was?" He replied, focusing once again on the road and positioning himself a good 3 miles per hour over the limit – enough to be speeding, but not enough to look out of place and be stopped. 

Muriel nodded, showing her understanding. Fortunately, it cut down the search area to lower England. Unfortunately, it wasn't much to cut down by. After all, it wasn't as if there were nuclear reactors in every town – they were fairly spread out.

The report finished abruptly after the spokesman's cutting response, the reporter obviously more than slightly stunned. So Muri sat back and started to read one of the few small books she had brought with her. It was true that Aziraphale was the main dealer with the obscure books, but Muriel also had a decent collection back at her house, and so she'd been able to bring some with her. 

The one she was currently reading had obviously been written with some exaggerations within it – the person had apparently always dreamed of becoming a popular author. After all, Muri severely doubted that the sharks and _'wilde beastes of the deepe'_ would begin to take on a humanoid form and start destroying the earth. If it was true, however, she hoped that they would at least start with the tourism hotspots – they were infuriating places for the angel. 

A few hours later, there was another odd report. This time they had needed to pull into the nearest services station as both had tears of laughter running down their faces. Once they'd finally regained control, they turned to face each other – and promptly started laughing again. This time, however, it sounded slightly closer to hysteria. After all, this meant that the boy was getting more powerful, and that they were very quickly running out of time.

Eventually, Muri had simply climbed out of the car, into the drizzle that had developed, and sat with her back against a tree in the car park. She rested her forehead on her crossed arms, which were wrapped around her legs. A minute later, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up. Damian was standing in front of her, hair slowly being plastered to his head. 

"We're screwed, aren't we?" he asked. All she could do was nod. They stayed silent for a pause, before the demon sighed. "Come on. This is _weird_ , especially with _you. You_ aren't meant to give up, after all. Goes with the job description for you lot. Bloody annoying _optimists_ , the lot of you." He muttered. Muriel chuckled.

"Well, _yes_ , but that's to counteract your blunt pessimism. _Something_ is needed, otherwise the balance is lost. And you're right, I shouldn't lose hope – there's still time, and we aren't the only ones out there looking for him. There is still a chance, small though it is." She said with a confident tone that she'd only just managed to fake. After all, she was trying to keep both of their hopes up, otherwise the temptation to simply give up and sit back for the show became too great.

The demon bit his lip, but nodded. Then he sighed. "Well, now we've had that – frankly _awkward_ – pep talk, can we at least go inside? I'd like another coffee, and you know how much I hate the rain." He asked, fidgeting from both the aforementioned awkwardness and the also aforementioned hatred of bad weather. He really did hate those types of moments between the pair of them, especially considering the fact that they had increased over the past few decades. It didn't do his demonic credentials any good whatsoever, and often caused his ego to take on the same wet, rumpled appearance _he_ was currently sporting.

The angel nodded, allowing him to help her up before they both headed into the services cafe, remarkably dry considering the trek to the building, and the current weather.

One could almost call it a _miracle_ , if you believed in such things.


	8. Last minute sightseeing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set on the night before the 'final' day (i.e Friday))

It turned out that both Chippenham and Bath were also false alarms, in the end. Really, Damian and Muriel knew that they should be rushing back to London, but it had been a while since the pair had last been in the Somerset city. Therefore, they had decided to stick around for the rest of the afternoon touring the various sites and generally enjoying themselves. After all, there _was_ a fairly high chance that it would be their last visit. Damian had even managed to take some photos of the pair of them. 

Muriel had been taken by the beauty of the old buildings, and Damian by the hilarity of exactly what the symbols used for the design of the city streets meant. Silly humans, misunderstanding things again...

They had rounded off the afternoon going on a tour bus of Bath and muttering to each other about the truth behind the various histories. The idea that the angels on the side of Bath Abbey were to do with _Jacob's ladder_ , for example, was hilarious. Little did the poor tour guide know that, actually, the image had been caused by a drunken Aziraphale and Crowley scaling a wall on one of the older buildings – with their wings on full display. 

To be fair, they'd been too busy trying to discorporate each other again – and too drunk – to notice that they had ended up with a few spectators. 

Equally drunken spectators, mind.

Evening eventually came around, and the pair went out to a decent Chinese restaurant that they'd spotted earlier. It had a lovely view over the river, considering, and so they'd grabbed a small, secluded table by one of the large windows. They spent the meal talking about various small, unimportant things and generally enjoying each others' company. Not to say that they didn't _usually_ enjoy each others' company, that is, but it seemed to be increased now that they had the real threat of an apocalypse over their heads. They continued to talk as they headed over to the hotel they had booked into, only saying goodnight at around ten in the evening. They had an early start, after all. 

Like Crowley, Damian had grown accustomed to sleep. _Un_ like Aziraphale, Muriel had done the same.

After pottering around the room getting sorted, Damian realised that for some odd reason he felt lonely without his companion there – even though she was only in the next room. He tried to get to sleep anyway, but found himself restless and unable to settle at all. 

A few hours later, however, the demon froze as he heard the sound of a door closing. 

_In the next room_. 

A few seconds later, he heard it open again, before closing once more. The sound was followed by one of footsteps. Unable to focus on the logical explanations with his sleep-deprived mind, he sat in silence before hurriedly tugging on his jeans and a shirt. He opened the door as he grabbed his jacket and followed the sound of footsteps out of the passage, down the stairs and into the lobby.

As he reached the entrance hall, he saw a hooded figure making their way out silently. Ignoring the fact that he was barefoot he followed, mind racing with thoughts. Hell had been suspicious already with the lack of heartless cruelty and the equal lack of angel-killing happening on earth. What if they'd worked it out? What if they'd found the pair somehow, tracked them? What if the sounds of the door were caused by an assassin from Downstairs, sent out to remove the angel? 

Spying the figure leaning against the bridge, overlooking the night sky and ignoring their surroundings, Damian reached into his jacket to pull out his trusted dagger. He silently walked up behind the mystery figure, counting mentally to 3 before grasping the shoulder and spinning them. In a flash he moved his hand to the figure's mouth, simultaneously placing the dagger against their throat. Satisfied, he looked up.

A pair of wide blue eyes stared back at him. Familiar blue eyes... Damian jolted, narrowly missing Muriel's artery by about an inch. He caught her neck, though, and a thin cut appeared. Behind his hand, the angel gasped at the pain. 

The demon removed the dagger quickly. Letting go of her mouth, he backed up a step and held his hands up to show he wouldn't hurt her. " _Muri_! Bless it, I thought... I mean... I heard the door and..." he trailed off, looking lost and more than slightly guilty. Muriel blinked, a hand absently going to her throat and wiping away the thin trickle of blood that had started up. After a pause, she spoke up.

"Damian... what was _that_ about?" she asked him, quietly. Quietly but not accusingly – typical angel. 

Damian sighed, leaning against the wall to the bridge and glancing at Muriel. "I'm sorry. I just heard your door opening and... panicked, I guess. I thought that Downstairs had sent an assassin or something." He explained sheepishly.

The angel stared at him, before smiling warmly. "You mean... you were worried for me?" She asked teasingly. Damian glared.

"Yeah, rub my face in it why don't you..." he muttered, before huffing a laugh. "So, _yeah_. Maybe I was worried. It was only because if they wiped you out I'd have to deal with Zira. And then, by _annoying_ default, Crowley." 

_'And I would be freaking out even more over the apocalypse. I wouldn't see you again, after all, and you’re a good friend.'_ He thought at the same time, but he wasn't about to admit _that_ to his angelic counterpart.

After a while, Muriel sighed. Glancing across the river, she looked briefly at Damian before focusing on the silvery waters below them. "I guess you couldn't sleep either then?" She asked, before frowning. "I truly hope that our tutors have found him. Because if they haven't, our chances are even slimmer." The angel mused, thinking. 

After a few more minutes, she clapped her hands together and rubbed them, as if she was warming them. "So," she said, offering a small smile, "Would you do me the honour of joining me for a midnight walk?"

Damian looked thoughtful, before smirking. "The honour would be mine." He replied with a flamboyant bow, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

"Yes, lets." The angel replied, placing her own through his.

And with that, a demon and an angel walked off into the night.


	9. Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set on Saturday morning, before one of the favourite scenes for any Aziraphale/Crowley shippers)

The drive back towards London was tense and slightly uncomfortable. Neither Muriel nor Damian had anything remotely confident to say, and in all honesty they were hoping that their respective tutors had found something to work with. The demon dropped his angelic counterpart off at her home, before driving to his apartment. Muriel watched him go until she couldn’t see his car any longer. Sighing, she headed indoors and started cleaning(1).

She was, in fact, halfway through doing the dusting when _they_ called. A blue light formed within her lounge, and a voice came from it. “Muriel?”

Swallowing, she called out a nervous “Um... hello?” 

The light glowed brighter at the recognition. “Muriel, you are to return to Heaven. The time has come to prepare for the battle against evil, and you are to be among them.”

“Really? I mean, you remember my way of wielding a flaming sword – we _all_ agreed that a staff was a _much_ safer-“

“You will join us. _Now_.”

Thinking fast, the angel pretended to startle, simultaneously willing a coat to fall off of its hook by the door. She span around, a false look of horror on her face. “Oh, you’ve done it now! That demon has heard you, he’ll be off to tell his superiors, no doubt. Oh, _heck_...”

The voice came back, a confused tinge to it. “We have said nothing of importance. What would he know?”

Muriel pretended to shake her head in exasperation, before retorting, “Sneaky thing, that demon. In fact, that is why there’s been a distinct drop in discorporation. He can pick up _everything_ from _everything_. Which is why I need to go, _now_ , and stop him.” 

She’d made it halfway across the room before the voice came again. “But... we can sense nothing beyond that door.” It was definitely uncertain now.

“Well, obviously! _He_ knows that _we_ know that _he_ knows about _our plans_. D’you think he’d hang around to be smote? _Really_?” she yelled, her frustration starting to become true rather than faked.

The light appeared to flinch, somehow. Muriel had forgotten how scary she could be when in a bad mood. 

_Oops_. 

Before she could bring herself to apologise, the angel flounced out of the room, grabbed her house keys and an umbrella, opened the door - and promptly sprinted down the street, racing away from the house. She needed to find Damian, and fast.

 

Damian had driven back to his apartment in a sour mood. They hadn’t found the antichrist, he needed to contact Crowley and Downstairs both – and all they had on the radio was Madonna and Kylie Minogue. Really, could it get much worse than that? Little did he know, he was going to regret that thought later on...

Either way, he arrived, stormed into his apartment and decided that he may as well watch something on the television before everything went to Hell. Or Heaven, depending upon which side won. Whoever it was, TV was about to go downhill. He found a few soaps and decided that, _actually_ , Saturday midday TV couldn’t get that much worse after all. Still, it was the principle of the thing. 

He was, in fact, halfway through an episode of 'Home and Away' when he heard a knock at the door. Before he could go to open it and scare away whoever it was, however, there was the unmistakable sound of a wooden apartment door being bashed in by a hammer. Blessing profusely, the demon leapt up and backed towards his safe, where he would find suitable anti-demonic protection in the form of innocent-looking liquid. 

He didn’t have time, however, as a cloud of smoke swept in, and a humanoid shape appeared in the midst of it. Swallowing, he opted for a cheesy grin. “Heya, Sunny! How’s it going for you?” he called out in a cheerful, hopefully not _too_ shaky voice. The demon glared. 

“I believe I warned you once, against calling me by that infernal nickname. The name, _cockroach_ , is Sunur.” Came the reply, in a voice that sounded like it belonged in a horror movie that was actually scary. Damian chuckled somewhat nervously.

“Oh, of course. My sincerest apologies. But what is a nickname between, er, fellow workers of the Underworld? Hm? After all, not like we have much longer before the end of Earth, is it? May as well be friendly...” he trailed off, noticing the blade in the other demon’s hand. “Um... yeah, well, maybe not.” With that, he pulled out his own knife, glad that he hadn’t totally forgotten how to fight. Unfortunately, he still had forgotten parts. After a few minutes of fighting, he found himself trapped against the counter, blade held inches from his neck. 

“Any last words?” snarled Sunur, before he laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh.

“Um...” Damian fought blindly with the onslaught of cowardly replies, desperately searching for one that sounded at least partially confident. He couldn’t find one. He slumped as the blade was raised, preparing himself for the pain and distantly wishing that he could have at least said goodbye to Muri and their tutors before taking a one-way trip to oblivion.

Sunur was about to deliver the killing blow when there was the quiet but recognisable noise of a throat being cleared deliberately. Both he and Damian turned around to discover who had made the sound. The sight that greeted them would have put the fear of Somebody into _any_ sensible demon. 

Leaning against the doorway was Muriel, her face devoid of all emotion but a cold look in her eyes. The last time Damian had seen the angel looking like that had been just before she had discorporated him for the final time before the Incident. Needless to say, it was a chilling image, and the younger demon swallowed nervously.

Muriel glanced between the two, before speaking. Her voice was cold, unreadable, and for the first time in a long time Damian felt scared to be near her. The only thing that stopped him from trying to run was that the words were directed at Sunur. 

“I see you are attempting to rid yourselves of him, _demon_.” She commented, spitting out the final word as if it caused a bad taste in her mouth. “Last time I checked, I believe that the discorporation of _him_ ,” she continued, nodding towards her counterpart, “was one of _my_ duties. Emphasis on _my_... So why are you attempting to do such a thing yourself?”

Muriel stepped closer, and her voice lowered. “I do not take kindly to those who attempt to fulfil _my_ duties in _my_ place. So either you let him go and leave, or you can find yourself removed from existence. _Permanently_.” She finished, waiting for Sunur’s response. 

The demon looked slightly nervous, but decided to go ahead with his confident act. “Why should I be scared of you? For one, you’re a girl. A _small_ girl, at that.”

Damian winced. “Oh, _bless_ it. You’ve done it now, mate. You’ve really done it now.” He muttered, glancing fearfully over at Muriel. Blinking, Sunur did the same. In place of her earlier look of detachment there was a deep fury about her, eyes flashing like daggers. Speaking about daggers, one appeared suddenly in her hand and she held it up. 

“You will regret your words, demon. If it is possible to regret words in _oblivion_.” Was all she said before lunging towards Sunur. The fight was entrancing, and it was swift. After some heated combat, they both froze as the angel’s dagger went into the chest of the demon. He looked down, feeling a burning sensation, before glancing up. Smoke began to spiral from the wound. 

Looking over from his position on the floor, Damian swallowed once more at the intense look on his angelic counterpart’s face. She smirked slightly, before speaking. “Oh, yes, forgot to mention. The dagger? Doused in holy water. _Bye bye_.” With that, she pushed the dagger upwards and Sunur vanished in a cloud of writhing, screeching smoke.

Both demon and angel watched him go, before Muriel closed her eyes and slumped to the floor. Concerned – and still a bit afraid – Damian headed over. “Hey...feathers, you alright?” he asked, sitting quietly across from her. She sighed lightly, before looking up and nodding slowly. 

“It’s been a while, that’s all. And... well, I was never a fan of bloodshed. It doesn’t mix well with my whole status as ‘Angel of the Youth’, after all.” She replied, before standing up slightly shakily. “Come on – we need to find our tutors.”

Nodding, Damian stood up too, grabbing the keys to the car. “Let’s go.” He agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)Well, they say that cleanliness is next to Godliness, and Muriel felt that it was worth a shot, all things considered. Anyway, the house loved her so much that there wasn't a huge amount of cleaning to be done. It was believed that, for as long as an angel wanted to have a clean house, it would be a sin for the house not to be _spotless_. Well, as much of a sin as is possible considering the fact that most houses don't _have_ souls, no matter what some singers would say.


	10. Fire and water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set immediately after previous chapter.)

To say that he was concerned for Muriel would be an understatement. The angel appeared to be in a mild form of shock, from what he could work out. She had jumped at the sound of the car door closing, and her gaze kept darting everywhere, never focusing on one particular point. She was nervous about something too, then.

Stopping at a red light on their way to Crowley’s flat, Damian found himself reaching over and placing a hand on top of her arm briefly, squeezing it gently. She’d flinched, before glancing over. Realising who it was, she relaxed and placed her other hand on top of his briefly, as if silently thanking him. For what, the demon hadn’t the faintest idea.

After a few minutes of Saturday afternoon traffic in London, they’d made it over to Crowley’s apartment. The car journey had been silent, but as they got out Muriel spoke quietly. “It’s not just your side acting.” She muttered, glancing over. At his puzzled look, she sighed. “I ended up with a ...call, of sorts. They want me Upstairs, getting ready to start with the angelic smiting. I was on my way over to tell you, and basically to run like Hel- Heav- _Somewhere_ from them.”

Damian swallowed. “Kinda glad they didn’t do what Downstairs did, then. A demon you can fight, but _another angel_? I can’t see that ending too well for you. And, consequently, for me!” he added when he thought about how disgustingly concerned and selfless he’d sounded. After all, it may have been the apocalypse but that didn’t mean he had to lose all of his self-respect. 

Muriel nodded solemnly, glancing over at him as they made their way inside and up the stairs. “I don’t think I could, really. Kill one of my brethren. I mean, you’re technically a member yourself, and I couldn’t kill _you_ – not permanently, anyway.”

“Gee, thanks.”

An exasperated sigh. “You know what I mean! Our duties were to, _temporarily_ , wipe each other off of the playing field. But after getting to know you... I don’t think I could even temporarily kill you now. You or Crowley.”

Damian nodded, understanding the serious undertone in the conversation:

**‘I don’t want to fight you anymore.’**

At that point, they reached the door to Crowley’s apartment. The ruined, open door. Cursing or blessing (depending on who you’re looking at), the pair rushed in and were greeted by chaos.

Well, not literally. For one thing, there were no butterflies, even with all of Crowley’s plants. But that’s beside the point. The apartment was a mess, and there was no sign of the elder demon anywhere. Looking around, Muriel shrieked as she found a puddle of melted demon on the floor, and their silent worry that Crowley had been attacked like Damian was confirmed, but also lessened. 

Deciding that there was no obvious sign of the older demon in the apartment, the younger pair were about to leave when they noticed one word, written on the window in red.

Apparently, all that Crowley could find at the time was _ketchup_.

Either way, the word was a place, and one that made both demon and angel want to repeatedly hit their heads against the wall. 

**TADFIELD** , read the ketchup-message. _‘Oops’_ the pair thought.

_ _

 

Heading over to Aziraphale’s bookshop, Muriel didn’t think things could possibly be worse. However, she hadn’t opened the window to the car yet. In the end, though, she really didn’t need to. As they turned the corner, they saw it _could_ get worse.

_The shop was on fire._

And not any small fire, either. Currently, it looked as if it was one big ball of fire, conveniently placed between two buildings. Bystanders were watching in shock as the inferno grew ever higher. Damian had barely pulled to a stop before Muriel practically threw herself out of the car, racing down the street. He followed quickly, catching up with her as a fireman tried to stand in her way.

“Now listen, sweetheart, that’s really not the best-“

Muriel gave the poor man a look that could quite possibly freeze the entire blaze into ice. “Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’, alright? Now, I’m going to ask some questions, and you will answer them carefully and clearly. Do you understand?” she asked, voice deceptively calm but with a rather terrifying undertone. The man nodded, terrified.

“Y-yes, miss.”

Muriel nodded, breathing carefully before starting. “Is there anyone within the building?” He shook his head. “Has anyone gone in?” He nodded. “A man?” Nod. “Business suit and glasses.” Two nods. “Did he say anything.” There was another nod, before the man hesitated. “Go ahead. Quickly, now.”

“He said I looked like a prat. Then he ran inside and came out after a few minutes with a book.” The man told her weakly. Damian could tell that this would be the guy’s last day as a fireman.

“Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind...” She turned away, stopping as she saw Damian in front of her. Briefly, she looked vaguely guilty, before moving again. “He’s not there. And he’s not dead, I’d know.” She commented, jumping back into the car. “Now, we need to get out to Oxfordshire, and then-“ she broke off, an odd look on her face.

“What is it?” Damian asked in concern. Muriel stared at him. 

“Your tutor’s caused us an issue. Think. What’s the only way towards Oxfordshire?”

“The M40, why?”

“And what, Damian, do we need to cross over to get there?”

“Well, the M... _M25. Bless it_...” 

“Exactly. Alright. Detour. Head to St James park.” 

“What? Muri, mate, now really isn’t a good time to feed the ducks.”

“Don’t question me, darling. Just drive. I have an idea.” She muttered, glancing over at him with a dangerous smile on her face. Swallowing, Damian nodded, heading towards the park.

20 minutes later found the pair sitting on a hotwired motorcycle and preparing to drive headfirst into the duck pond. “Are you sure about this?” Damian asked in concern. Muriel, whose arms were wrapped around Damian’s chest, nodded. 

“Trust me! It’s the best option we have.”

That being all he needed to hear, Damian revved the engine and drove into the pond, submerging them both completely. The engine miraculously didn’t give out at all, although that may have been because both demon and angel believed that it was perfectly reasonable for a motorbike to work underwater. If anyone had been watching the other side of the pond as they came out, the person may have had this thought:

_‘Is it a bird? Is it a plane?’_

Really, it could have been either. But it was, in fact, a motorcycle with two riders appearing from the water drenched. Funnily enough, one of the riders had wings.

 

_ _

 

As they approached the overhead, Damian started to panic. After all, it was going to hurt, and...

He felt Muriel’s grip on him tighten, just as he heard something in his head.

_“It’ll be fine! Just keep going straight and believe as hard as you can.”_

_**“How are you doing that?”** _

_“It’s easy. Angels can read minds, why wouldn’t they be able to be telepathic?”_

_**“But why only now?”** _

_“Well... I think the end of the world is a suitable time to start with the mildly intrusive powers, don’t you? Oh, look, we’re over.”_

And they were. With that, an angel and a demon on a flaming motorcycle powered along the M40, only a few minutes behind their tutors.

At least Muriel’s wings were hidden again, though.

Didn’t want to confuse people, after all.


	11. It's the end of the world as we know it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Set straight after last chapter.)

A few hours later saw Muriel and Damian approaching Tadfield on a blazing motorcycle. They’d dried off about 15 minutes after the overpass, and the bike had stared burning quickly afterwards. Muriel’s grip had begun to weaken as she started to feel the effects of fully believing that a motorcycle can still work perfectly when on fire, but somehow she was still clinging onto Damian’s waist.

Muriel could sense it all, now. It was as if radars were attached to the pair, telling them exactly where to go. And apparently they were to go to an airbase somewhere by Tadfield, if the voices were to be believed. Why there, the angel hadn’t a clue. It seemed to be a strange place for the apocalypse to start, but then perhaps it was all part of the ineffable plan. For now all she could do was hold on and think about the number of clearly-ablaze motorcycles she’d seen in her life. It involved a lot of focus, and she knew that sugar would be pretty vital once this was all over. That is, if there would be any sugar that survived – and the angel dearly hoped so. She was already in trouble with her superiors – and Damian’s. 

Either way, as they neared the area, the signals began to get vague. At one stage, they’d had to ask for directions from a man. He’d looked only mildly surprised, but when Muriel discreetly reached out to check his soul she realised why – he was in shock already, and from the memories that were sitting at the surface of his mind Damian and herself were not the first person to have asked. Deciding to make sure, she put on her sweetest smile and asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen our friends, have you? One of them has dark hair and sunglasses. Probably would have been in quite a rush?” The man nodded feebly, before simply walking inside muttering about the air quality of today’s Britain or something similar. The angel and demon pair watched in confusion, before deciding to get on with the journey – they were running out of time.

Finally, the pair arrived at the Air Base and leapt off of the motorbike as soon as they were able. It fell apart the second they were off, and collapsed into a burning heap of metal. Muriel had only a second to feel guilty for destroying someone’s bike before being hit by a spell of dizziness. She wavered in her steps for a pause, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Damian glanced over. “You OK there, feathers? You aren’t looking that wonderful right now to be honest.”

“Neither are _you_.” She replied tetchily, before sighing. “I’ll be fine, let’s just reach our tutors, alright?”

Damian nodded, before briskly walking over towards where he could see Crowley. There was no sign of Aziraphale, but there were two other people – an old, grizzly-looking man and a strange-looking woman who was wearing far too much floral print for any human being. Stepping up to the older demon, he glanced around. “Not too late, then, are we?”

“ _Damian_! Are you alright?” Crowley responded. Demon or not, he still cared about the wellbeing of his student. The connection between an angel (whether from Upstairs or Downstairs) and their tutor was very similar to that of a parent and child.* Therefore, even though the apocalypse was apparently nigh, his first thought was to ensure that the younger demon was in one piece.

“Of course I am.” Damian responded confidently, before pausing as Muriel coughed politely but meaningfully behind him. “Ok... So I had a bit of help in dealing with an issue, but other than that I’m OK.” He added sheepishly. Crowley turned to face the younger angel as well, but before Muriel could ask the whereabouts of her own tutor, the woman spoke up in a chillingly familiar voice.

“ _Muriel! How are you, my dear? I see you avoided being called up._ ” Said the voice, followed by the same voice, but more... natural, for the body. “Ooh, who’s this then? Are you alright, sweetie? You look a little shaken up. Perhaps you ought to sit down – both of you, actually. Poor little things.”

Muriel blinked, before frowning slightly. “... _Aziraphale_? Why are you in _there_? And pardon me for sounding rude, there, madam. I can assure you that I meant no harm. May I ask for a name?” she asked, before taking the kind old woman’s advice and sitting on the ground daintily – unlike Damian, who simply collapsed to the floor.

“The name is Madam Tracy, sweetie. And never you mind about the comment, I can see you’re trying to regain some strength. Muriel, hmm? Another angel?”

“ _It’s a long story, my dear, and one we’ll focus on after everything else. Alright? Yes, Madam Tracy, she is another angel. My student in fact._ ” Aziraphale’s voice replied. All Muriel could do was nod as she looked forward and saw the four riders of the Apocalypse stepping out of the building – to be met with four children. 

There was something odd about the first child to start talking, and it took Muriel a while to gather the grace needed to search him. As soon as she did, however, she gasped. Distantly, she listened to Aziraphale as she told the humans who the boy was, but instead she glanced between the others. The one girl amongst the children – a fiery red-head with an apparently fiery soul to match – glanced over at them all briefly, and her gaze lingered on the younger angel. Something that was really to be expected, given their ages and Muriel’s occupation. She offered the child a weak smile before glancing at the other two boys, taking in all the information she could.

\- -

All of those gathered watched in shock as, one by one, the three normal children went up against their counterparts and won. Damian had to admit, it was a good plan. And, of course, having the antichrist believe that it would work helped matters. Unlike the humans, the angels and demons weren’t surprised in the least about the wings of Azrael. They were, however, shocked when Adam looked at them all as if he could see exactly who they were. He probably could, actually. He grinned at Adam’s comment about being ‘two people’, and could see the relief in Muriel’s expression when her tutor appeared once again. The pair smiled at each other, before looking back at Adam – and then Crowley, as he put a bit of a dampener on things.

The younger demon watched in mild surprise as another pair of humans appeared. However, before anyone could ask exactly who they were, a bolt of lightning struck and both angels suddenly looked a lot more terrified. 

‘ _And with good reason_ ’, he thought as they mentioned his name. Damian couldn’t really remember much of Heaven, but one thing he could remember was that you really didn’t want to upset the Metatron. Neither did you want to upset the next figure to appear, in the demons’ opinions. 

\- -

The angels and demons both attempted to shrink away conspicuously from the two newest additions, but it didn’t really work. Giving up, Muriel swallowed slightly, before stepping up behind the Them. After all, her duty was to protect children, and they were still children. Wensleydale and Brian both took an instinctive step backwards, edging closer to the source of mild safety. Even Pepper shuffled slightly closer, although she seemed determined to be there with Adam as well. Helping her, Muriel placed a hand onto her shoulder, helping Pepper’s pulse to lessen slightly.

Deciding that really, he should be doing slightly better than what he was, Damian edged forward slightly, placing himself just behind and to the right of his angelic counterpart. She shot him a small, grateful smile. They then listened to the argument that ensued.

There was a moment, however, when all thought that they’d lost in the end. Damian could see his tutor slumping back into his seat out of the corner of his vision, and he was about to do the same when Aziraphale of all people spoke up. After a minute, Damian could see both Crowley and Muriel starting to grin, before it hit him. 

Ineffability.

He chuckled slightly as he listened to his tutor and Muriel’s thoroughly dressing down the two unwelcome presences and Pepper glanced at him in mild confusion. He grinned at her, and she started to grin back, before grinning at the other humans.

With the gunshot of Shadwell’s bullet, the pair vanished and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

As the others began to relax and chatter, Muriel took a few steps to the side, and stretched. She was smiling again, and for some strange reason it helped Damian to relax further. Which was odd, because whilst he was happy that she was happy, it usually wouldn’t make him this happy. Frowning at his confusing train of thought, he was about to walk over to his angelic counterpart when he suddenly felt the air heating. He could hear Aziraphale babbling slightly, and he turned to share a look of horror with Muriel. He headed over to her, standing by her side again. “I don’t understand...” she murmured, glancing fearfully over at the Them with Adam.

He could see Crowley begin to desperately start the jeep, before Aziraphale stepped in. Meanwhile, he was looking for a way out himself. Before he could come up with one, he felt a gentle – if trembling – hand on his arm. Looking over, he met Muriel’s deep blue eyes. 

“We can’t leave.” She told him quietly, gaze searching his own. “There are humans here, _children_. We _can’t_ leave them.”

“But...” He was about to complain further, but then it dawned on him. Why should they bother? They were in enough trouble already, what difference would it make? He sighed, before nodding and changing his search. As Aziraphale grabbed War’s sword, and Crowley found a tyre iron, the younger demon found a discarded gun, and Muriel somehow managed to find a large branch, and with a blink it smoothed out into a wooden staff. Looking at each other, they both tried to smile.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you on the other side. You did your demon side proud, but... you did the angelic side well, too.” Muriel told him, a teasing look on her face.

“Yes, well... You could be a little _hellcat_ when you wanted to be, so congratulations.” He replied grumpily, before walking over towards their tutors. His ears were tinged pink. Muriel joined him, and together with Aziraphale, Crowley and Shadwell, they stepped forward to face the Devil himself. Along with their tutors, Muriel and Damian also brought their wings out. After all, what was the point in hiding your wings when the chances were that nobody would remember them?

The following few minutes, however, were a blur. Honestly, neither Muriel nor Damian would be able to tell you exactly what happened, apart from the fact that they weren’t dead by the end of it. As soon as the car had appeared, however, there was a rustling sound as four pairs of wings vanished suddenly. 

After everyone else but their tutors had vanished, Muriel and Damian sat down together under a tree on the outskirts of Lower Tadfield. They didn’t stay long, just long enough to end up seeing the Them going past. The three boys kept going, but Pepper stopped.

“Hey,” she said, walking over. “You were there, weren’t ‘cha? You saw it all.” 

The conversation was odd, and brief, but it ended with Muriel having to promise that they’d stay in touch, and Damian sullenly agreeing.

It was a strange end to the Apocalypse, but nobody complained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Except without the potty training, and less temper tantrums. All in all, better than being a parent.


	12. End of the End of Days?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Final chapter! This one's set on the day after, in the evening.)

Damian frowned as the doorbell to his apartment went off. After all, the Apocalypse had nearly happened yesterday and he wasn’t expecting any visitors. Cautiously, he reached for his flask of holy water with a pair of oven mitts before pacing over to answer the door. Counting to three, he flung the door open and hurled the contents out at whoever was on his doorstep. When no shrieks of dying agony were heard, he pulled the door open further and glanced out. A drenched, highly unimpressed Muriel glanced back at him.

“... _Thanks_.” she muttered.

“Um... whoops?” Damian offered in response, before continuing, “To be fair, I wasn’t exactly expecting you. The _last_ thing I expected was for you to turn up in fact. ...Why _are_ you here, anyway?” He blinked at the expression of hurt that appeared on his angelic counterpart’s face, before it became unreadable. 

“I’m sorry. If I’m intruding, I will do you a favour and go...” she replied with a blank expression, not meeting his eyes. The words he’d used sprang back into Damian’s mind and he blessed inwardly. 

“ _No_! You aren’t, that isn’t what I meant. Sorry... Look, come on in. Just... please, get rid of the holy water? _Please_?” he asked, stepping to one side. Muriel, upon noticing that she was still dripping, blinked. When her eyes opened again, she was completely dry, but she wobbled, steadying herself on the doorframe. Damian watched in concern, glancing at Muriel and noticing how she seemed slightly paler than usual. 

“You aren’t going to throw up, are you?” he asked. He got a bleary glare and a mild head shake in response, and so decided that it was safe for the angel to come into his apartment. “What I meant earlier,” he continued as he led Muriel through to the lounge, “was why aren’t you resting at home, or with Aziraphale? I’m perfectly happy for you to be here – I was getting bored.”

Muriel sat down with slightly less grace than usual – thanks to the fact that she was walking on unsteady legs – and sighed in contentment as she was able to rest. She grimaced at his question, though. “Home was... too quiet, after everything. I needed sound. So I headed to the bookshop – which, by the way, is back in full! No sign of the inferno – in order to chat with Zira. When I got there, however, my tutor and yours were, uh... dealing with their... emotions, in a way. Towards each other, that is.” 

At Damian’s blank look, she sighed before snapping. “They were making out rather passionately in the back room, and I’m _mentally scarred_ and can we _please_ change the subject, now?!” 

Damian froze, before his expression morphed into one that appeared to fight between sympathy, horror, shock and disgust. “Ugh, now I need mind bleach, too! And poor you... So I was next on the list, then?”

“You were, yes. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure about whether or not you’d be with Crowley, which is why I didn’t go to yours first. Aziraphale was closer than here, and as you can tell I’m not exactly full to overflowing with energy. Afraid I slightly outdid myself yesterday with the grace and miracles...” she responded, settling back into the sofa and slumping – a rare occurrence for the angel, who usually prided herself on good manners and etiquette. It was proof enough that Muriel was exhausted by everything, and Damian felt a little bad for not noticing sooner. 

Popping into the kitchen area, he set the kettle to boil, poking his head around the doorway. “Tea?”

Muriel smiled wearily. “Can’t think of anything better to drink right now.” She could feel herself beginning to fade, and was struggling to stay awake. She’d seen that Damian was also tired, but then she had used more grace than he’d used... whatever his grace was now. Whilst guarding the children during the conflict the day before, she’d slipped some into them all, giving them a boost of security. However, it had managed to drain her of some of the little bit of energy she had remaining. 

A few minutes later Damian reappeared carrying two mugs. Instead of sitting down, though, he placed the drinks down before going back into the kitchen area. His reason became apparent when he entered once more, this time carrying a plate of biscuits. He placed them down onto the table between the mugs, before settling on the sofa next to Muriel and grabbing one. The angel shot him a grateful look, before picking up her tea and a biscuit for herself. She alternated between sipping delicately at her drink and nibbling on the chocolate digestive.

Once the biscuits were finished, both demon and angel were feeling slightly more energetic, and so chatted. The conversation eventually led on to the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. “Ah, well. It’s all over now.” Damian summarised, settling his head lopsidedly on the back of the sofa and glancing sideways at his angelic friend. She also leant against the back of the sofa, but instead of smiling she looked troubled.

“I’m... not so sure. I don’t think it is, really.” She muttered. Damian frowned at her in confusion. 

“What on earth do you mean? Not like you to be a pessimist.” He replied, moving closer to her.

“Well, it’s just that it all seemed... rushed. Incomplete. I mean, where were the seals? The trumpets and things? It wasn’t complete at all. I can’t help but feel...” she trailed off, frowning at her hands. “No, that’s nonsense, Muri. You’re just conflicted right now.” She murmured to herself, voice barely audible. Damian stared at her in confusion, and mild worry.

“What’s nonsense? What can’t you help feeling?” When she didn’t respond, the demon sighed. “Muriel. Muri, come on, spill. Because... hate to admit it, but when you have hunches there are times when you’re right. Remember that ‘silly thought’ of yours about the supposed ‘flu going around London in the 1600s? You saved us a fair bit of strife, calling us out of the city like that.” He continued, remembering the group’s lucky escape from the plague. He, especially, was grateful for missing it. After all, Pestilence wasn’t best pleased with him at that point...

He was brought back to earth by Muriel sighing. “It’s just... I know it’s silly, but it’s almost like they always knew, in the end. That this was a dummy run – or a distraction. I mean, we’ve focused solely on England, haven’t we? What if something big is happening in Australia? Or America, for that matter?”

Damian snorted. “Australia, perhaps. But America? Not a chance. Nothing major would happen in America. I mean, why would they go there of all places? Far too many good, church going people, surely? I think you’re wrong on this one. The risk is over, we can relax now. And there is nothing wrong in America right now, I’m sure of it.”

With that, the conversation was ended, and the pair changed subject to a lighter topic. They talked until they could stay awake no longer, and fell asleep where they were. The next day would see the pair wandering around London, feeding the ducks in St James’ park and generally enjoying their continued existence.

_That is, until the next time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of that - for now!  
> It may take a while, but I'm considering a possible crossover between this and Supernatural. It might not happen at all, but I'll see. I've given the possible link-in at the end, there...
> 
> On the other hand, if anyone was to give a prompt for something that they wanted to see then I could always do little one-shots... But up to the reader!

**Author's Note:**

> As a side-note, in my mind Muriel looks vaguely like a younger (say 24ish) Zooey Deschanel, and Damian shares some link of appearance with Thomas Dekker, and looks about the same age as Muriel. In my mind, Muriel has an RP (basically the posh, Oxford-style) accent, whilst Damian's borders on Cockney. Makes no real difference, but it may help!


End file.
